bomb in a birdcage
by she began to dance
Summary: He was a whole hand plus one too wise. /Falcone and Driscoll Investigations


**AN**: You don't need to have read Force of Habit/Back in the Habit to read this. But you should read them anyway okay

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The sun broke out at sunset splaying brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows. The blue morning sky blended with the gray midnight and put on its show before the morning took over. A little boy, _finally a whole hand plus one_, snapped his eyes open and turned eagerly to his side to stare at his older brother. He stared until the older boy cracked open one eye and sighed.

"Frank, go to sleep,"

"Cacey, where's daddy?"

Cacey sighed again and turned to his other side, away from his brother. "Sleep. It's Saturday."

"Mommy said we have to wake up early because daddy is here. Where's daddy?"

Frank waited until all he heard was Cacey's snores. He tapped his fingers against his pillow and shot up, the covers falling onto the floor. The sunset was gone, taken over by the bright blue, like the cotton candy Frank loves to eat at fairs. Frank slammed down onto the wooden floor and ran past the beds to the bedroom door, flinging it open.

"Frank…" Cacey began, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"Mommy!" Frank squealed into the narrow hallway and flew down to the end, to the door that was creaking open slightly. He handled that door with care, letting it bounce off the wall lightly. The bed creaked under the added weight as Frank climbed into his mother's arms.

"Mommy…"

"Hi, baby," Eithne shifted and wrapped her arms around Frank's tiny body. He felt squished but it was the only feeling that brought him comfort nowadays. Her familiar hand scratching lightly across his back, her light breath smelling of apples on his hair. His brothers banged him up. His mother patched him back together.

"Daddy isn't home." It was more of a question than it came out. Frank watched his mother's face in confusion. She was smiling but it faded and she didn't hide it. Sometimes, people thought Frank was too much of a baby to understand things. Things like faded smiles. But he knew the subject of daddy wasn't a good one.

"No, no, not yet." Eithne bit her lip and brushed Frank's ginger hair back. It stuck up, like it always did every morning he woke up, every time someone ruffled their hands in it, which was quite a lot, more often than to Frank's liking. But he let his mother do it without complaint. "He'll come soon. Today."

"I miss him,"

"I know. Me too."

Frank listened to his mother's quiet breathing and wondered why daddy could bring two different reactions. When he was with his brothers, daddy brought on excitement. His thoughts wandered to playing balls and setting up nets in the yard and shoulders masquerading as seats. He could hear his dad's shouts of joy when Sean kicked a soccer ball straight into the center of the goal. The loud crack as a baseball bat connected to a ball, his dad's eyes soaring to the sky, gleaming as brightly as the sun, as Brendan ran through all three bases. Deep crimson smeared over Aidan's white Little League uniform and amused-filled laughter erupting from the laundry room.

When Frank was with his mother, however, he did not get the shouts and the laughs. He had seen her bite her lip countless of times, wearing a pretty dress with a dark color Frank couldn't name, lips that gave him fuzzy-feeling, warm smiles set to match the colors of crushed cranberries. Those times were vague, though, so vague that sometimes he thinks he's dreamt up a version of his mom so giggly and happy that the real version wouldn't be caught dead in a dress with cranberries.

She bit her lip so hard it hurt, so hard it bruised and bled and Frank would cry for her hurt so visibly etched on her face, but she wouldn't know he knew. He was a whole hand plus one but that didn't mean he was smart enough for secrets like that of his mother's hurt. He didn't like to see his mother hurt. That was why he tried extra hard to be good. He didn't call out when his brother's twisted his arm or took his toys. Anything they wanted, anything they did, anything to keep mommy happy.

He didn't think about daddy's happiness as much. It was in Frank's mind as much as he was home, which was to say, hardly ever. When Frank got an A on his spelling test, he ran home from the bus stop faster than he had on any gym test ever and jumped into his mother's arms, flinging his arms around excitedly, shoving the paper in her face. Her face lit up and she hugged him, showering him with praise. She looked behind her and Frank did too, just in time to catch the scowl on his face. Eithne hurriedly turned back to Frank, her smile bigger, more… forced even though she had no reason to. She didn't believe Frank had looked at his father, had seen his disapproval.

He had shown that disapproval a lot for Frank, if he thought back to the sad times. When Frank won a participation medal for a spelling bee (he made fifteenth place, not that it mattered). When Sean had pinky sworn not to let go of his bike but he did anyway and Frank tumbled off onto the rough concrete, a loud shriek escaping his baby lungs. Mommy wasn't home and all daddy did was frown and lift him up by his arms a little too roughly.

It seemed Frank had loved someone far too much than they had loved him.

Frank was not dumb because the next year, he had made it up to third place in the spelling bee. He didn't brag and he hid his participation trophy away under his bed as soon as he got home. He tried his bike again, having given up after that day for fear that he did something he wasn't supposed to to get daddy to look at him that way. Sometimes, he didn't talk for days around his father because he saw that he was happier like that—when Frank didn't seem to exist.

He was not dumb then and he was not dumb now. He knew he was not wanted by his father, whatever the reason. He knew he made him happy when he was not there but it did not stop Frank from leaping with joy at the sound of his father's footsteps down the hall, or his voice as he called one of his brother's down from their room.

Despite the frowns, because Frank was still a child and his mind never stayed on one subject too long, he admired his dad. He was very strong, able to lift Cacey _and_ Brendan with each hand, Sean hanging on his shoulders easily, even with all that muscle. He was gone a lot but each time he came back, he looked bulkier than before, lifting more with just one hand that would outweigh Frank three times.

"Mommy,"

"Mm?"

He looked down at her closed eyes, her quirked eyebrow. She opened her eyes and poked Frank in the nose. Her voice didn't sound like daddy's. It was much more soothing. She said it was because she wasn't from home but Frank didn't know what that meant just yet. Her eyes were alarmingly bright, for the color of Frank's favorite chocolate. They matched his, along with her red hair and light freckles. He looked a lot like his mom, more than his brothers did. It was like a secret only the two of them shared.

"How old am I?"

"Hmmmm, let's count," Eithne smiled lazily up at him and took his hand warmly into hers, pulling it closed to a fist. She gripped each finger and held it up, counting. "One, two, three.."

"Four,"

"Five,"

"Sex!"

Eithne giggled and kissed his open palm, laying it on her shoulder as she held him against her in a hug. "Six," she corrected and kissed his head. "You're so old!"

"Nuh-uh!" Frank exclaimed.

"Yes! Soon, you'll be moving out, getting a job, having your own family!"

"No," he buried his head in the crook of her neck and shut his eyes tight.

"Soon, you'll be leaving me all alone here…"

"No!" Frank banged his free arm against the headboard forcefully and lunged out of her grasp. Eithne gasped and flinched, staring at Frank, hurt in her eyes, in his hand, hurt everywhere.

"Mommy, no! I won't leave you!" he was exasperated and breathing heavily as if he just ran a whole mile on his small feet. He bat angrily at his eyes, not daring to let his tears fall.

"Honey, I was only joking," she said soothingly, reassuringly, sitting upright now, her nightgown crinkled up to her knees. "Don't cry, baby, it's all right…"

"Dad. Did he leave you here?" it was a bold question, something he'd never even think about asking but he couldn't help himself. It showed too much of how smart he really was. If he was smart enough to figure this out, he was smart enough for anything.

It was the first time he had ever called his father anything but 'daddy'.

"Frank," Eithne began, sliding to kneel on her knees on the ground, to match his height somehow. Frank took a tentative step back and his mother's arms fell to her sides. He avoided her face.

"Honey, daddy didn't leave forever. Remember when I told you about his work? He has to go sometimes, but he comes back. He'll come soon. Don't be sad, you'll see him soon!"

"Daddy hates me."

"No!" Eithne exclaims and hurriedly wraps her arms around the squirmy toddler. "No, never say that again, Frank! He loves you, so much."

"Not the way you love me," he whispers. Frank thinks about his friends and how their fathers used to always buy them candy from the machines at restaurants and play catch with them in the yard in the evenings, even accompanying their sons in protests to the moms, pleading for a few more minutes, even though it was a school night and they'd already been out long enough. He thinks hard for a time when his father had ever complained when he couldn't spend more time with Frank. Nothing came to mind. Had he ever even been alone with Frank?

Eithne tried to hide the fact that the lingering silence confirmed what Frank had said. Tried to hide the fact that her little boy, her pride and joy, her baby, knew more than he had let on. He didn't win those spelling bees and earn those S pluses for being ignorant. He was a whole hand plus one too wise.

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**AN**: My headcanon for Frank's past/family life is basically this—his father is a jerk, he has four brothers, and his mom completely adores him (and vice versa). I could go into more elaborate detail but eh.  
I was hoping to get a category up for this book/series but ff doesn't like me ): even if it was most likely just going to be filled with my crap stories. Where is this fandom? I NEED ONE LIKE AIR.  
The ending's a little weird, too, because I couldn't really think of ending it in any other way? Nothing seemed right and this one doesn't either, but it's closest. There's supposed to be ~drama~  
Eithne, Unnamed father (fear not! Douchebag Dad _does_ have a name, just not in this) and Aidan, Sean, Brendan, Cacey © me.  
Frank © Alice Loweecey


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